After tossing and turning I cloak up
\nand step into the other larger room
\noutside, where frangible branches, glassy
\ngarage and garbage cans have been chisled
\nfrom the brittle substance of algid air.
\nI take the crusted foot path towards the light
\nbulb inadvertently left on, its fragile
\nfilament now projecting a sallow cone
\nacross the icy desolation of the yard.
\nOnly boot crunch stays a mute implosion
\nof boughs and snow and the irridescent \u00a0curtain
\nSwirls of the aurora above, inertia
\nwith a smell of its own. My senses seize
\nthis scene sustained by sound from emptiness.<\/p>\n
***<\/p>\n
Forty below is where celsius and Fahrenheit cross, <\/em><\/span>Suffice it to say it was cold, a very dry cold, and I couldn’t sleep, I told myself, because of the outdoor light I’d accidentally left on, which had to be extinguished before I could drift off.\u00a0<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" After tossing and turning I cloak up and step into the other larger room outside, where frangible branches, glassy garage and garbage cans have been chisled from the brittle substance of algid air. I take the crusted foot path towards the light bulb inadvertently left on, its fragile filament now projecting a sallow cone across … <\/p>\n